Pre-Existing Claim
by SETI-fan
Summary: Marceline goes to confront her father when she makes an annoying discovery about herself.


**Just a short little idea that popped into my head as I get used to writing for Adventure Time again. I do intend to write more for "Fear of the Unknown" despite it being an insanely long time since I started it. I've just given up on trying to make it fit all the new revelations the show has given us about the characters and history this season and let it exist as an AU story.**

But anyway, for now, enjoy this little moment!

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There was a slam of doors in the next room, then a figure blocked the entrance to the kitchen, its shadow angling across the floor like an accusatory finger.

"Dad, we need to talk!"

Hunson looked up from the refrigerator and grinned widely. "Marceline, what a lovely surprise! You never just drop by to visit your old man!"

"Yeah, well, I'm not here for father-daughter family time," she growled, stalking into the room.

He sighed, closing the fridge and carrying a soda can to the table. "I should have guessed. What do you need? Money? Minions? Somebody's nightmares haunted with unimaginable terrors?"

"The only thing I want from you, Dad, is answers." She leaned on the table across from him, glaring. "I saw Death today. A friend of mine was dying so I offered my soul in exchange for theirs, only guess what? Turns out _somebody_ already put a claim on it!"

"Oh, is that what this is about?" Hunson laughed, opening his orange soda. "Sorry, guess I should have told you about that at some point, but yeah, when you were born, I marked your soul as mine."

Her features warped into a bestial snarl, hair snaking around her. "_Ugggh!_ Dad, why do you always have to mess with my stuff?!"

"I didn't think you'd make such a big deal about it," he said, shrugging.

"You can't do stuff like that without asking! It's _my_ soul! Why does everything have to be about control with you?!" She floated away to glare out the window, arms folded tightly around herself.

Hunson stood up and calmly walked over to her. He put an arm around her shoulder, holding on even as she tried to shrug out of his grip. "Would it make you feel better if I told you why I did that?"

She snorted, not looking at him. "This ought to be good."

He looked out over the sea of chaos outside his home, allowing the waves of frustration and torment to wash their refreshing scent across him. "It's a dangerous world out there, Marceline. Souls are a valuable trading commodity, not to mention a tasty snack now and then. A soul like yours, demon, human, vampire…there are a lot of nasty types who would love to have a soul like that for spells or to power a doomsday machine. Not the sort of people I want around my little girl.

"You see," he continued, turning her slightly to face him, "I knew your mother was a mortal when we got together. Which meant you weren't going to be deathless like me. With your mom living on the surface world, the Mushroom War gearing up, and me so busy with work all the time, who knew what could happen? So, at your baby shower, I had a little talk with Death and I bought your soul for eternity. That way, if anything ever happened to you, your soul would come right back home to me, safe and sound.

"After that, it'd be up to you. Just 'cause I own your soul doesn't mean I'm going to force you to do anything you don't want. I can't make you do anything _now_. You could stick around and live here with me, help run the business, or we could make you a new body from a couple of sacrifices, whatever you want."

Marceline still wouldn't look straight at him, but she had reverted back to her natural form and stood quietly. "Really? You're not making that up?"

He held up two fingers in the Sign of the Devil. "Demon's honor."

Marceline fully relaxed, eyes darting up to look at him at last. "Thanks, Dad," she said softly. "That's kind of sweet."

He smiled and pulled her into a hug. "Anything for my little monster."

Releasing her back to arm's-length, he started guiding her back to the table. "So, what ended up happening with your friend's soul?"

"Oh, well, since I couldn't trade my soul, I challenged Death to a musical duel," she said, taking the seat beside her father.

"Oh yeah? How did it go?"

She snorted. "I won. Duh."

Hunson placed his hands on the table, a delighted laugh erupting from his throat. "My little girl beat Death in a musical duel?!"

"Well, yeah. I mean, I used to play back-up with his band at a few gigs, remember? The guy's only got, like, one style."

"But you actually won!" He beamed. "Oh, I have to hassle him about that at our next poker night!"

The corner of her mouth quirked up in a slight grin. "It was pretty cool."

"So, since you couldn't put your soul up for wager, what did you offer instead?" he asked, sipping his soda.

"Well, he said if he won, I'd have to work for him for the rest of my undead life."

Hunson nearly choked on his drink. "Really? You were willing to risk that for some mortal?"

"Yeah." She shrugged, looking slightly uncomfortable. "It's what he asked in return and I wasn't going to just quit and let my friend die. Besides, being a reaper or bouncer for the Dead Worlds might be kind of fun. And I guess if I had really hated it, I could have just staked myself and gone home."

He grunted. "Still, agreeing to a deal like that? Sounds a bit…heroic." He caught her look and immediately back-pedaled, grinning awkwardly. "Not that I'm questioning your life choices. You're a grown woman and what you do with your afterlife is none of my business."

She accepted his attempt at being supportive. "Anyway, I won and we all got to go home, so that doesn't matter."

"Right you are! And who am I to complain if it means I get a visit from my daughter out of the deal?" Hunson got up and went back to the fridge. He brought a bottle of ketchup back to the table and opened it, setting it in front of her. "Now, tell me everything about the duel. I want to hear exactly how you humiliated the tombstone cowboy."

She picked up the bottle, draining the red from part of it and leaned back in her chair, relaxing into her story. "Okay, so first off, he picks the drums, right? Whole wall of instruments and he always picks the drums. Guy seriously needs to start branching out a bit. Anyway, so he's trying to look all intimidating, twirling the sticks, like that's gonna work on me, right? But I know his deal: he's all volume, no technique…"

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**I left it intentionally ambiguous which friend she was trying to rescue so each reader can imagine whoever they prefer for shipping/buddy stories. Could be Finn, PB, Ice King, Keila, whoever you want. :)  
**


End file.
